Greed
by Aurona X
Summary: "He thinks that is enough to set his heart on fire. And it starts out simple. He walks her home." Ichihime. Oneshot. Smut.


It starts out simple.

A smile.

Her tiny, but still somehow beaming smile whenever he is around. At first, he thinks that is enough to set his heart on fire - it feels like it already _is_ on fire. Because that smile is different. That smile is special, and he would be a fool to not notice it only appeared when directed towards him. The fast warmth that grows in his chest just _knowing_ that smile is for him is almost too much to bear. Little interactions such as this start to mean more, and more.

And it starts out simple.

He walks her home.

And something that once might have seemed off track for his day, becomes something of a routine. Now, he can't imagine a day where he didn't wait for her at the school gate. He can't imagine a day where he didn't see her smile as she ran toward him, a wave of long auburn hair swaying behind her like a silk sunset. When she comes to an abrupt stop before him her bag swinging behind her as she tilts her head up to greet him with that smile, _his_ smile, his chest tightens. As her long hair brushes against his hand before it settles, the warmth spreads and catches in his throat.

He _thinks_ , that it is simple.

Her touch changes things.

It was soft, and barely noticeable the first time it happened. Just a tiny brush of her fingers against his arm through the thin material of his winter school uniform. Her touch is startlingly warm, and his fingers twitch as it leaves. As if even the smallest bones in his body are begging for her to _come back_. At first, the thought is embarrassing. And he locks it deep inside his heart, banishing the warmth in his chest stubbornly.  
The second time it happens, her hand is lightly hooked in the crook of his elbow, as she uses him for balance. Without the winter uniform as a barrier between them, he feels it all. The petal-soft skin, delicate bone structure and all. His skin is on fire even after she pulls away. The warmth in his chest now refuses to leave.

It _should_ be simple.

He kisses her, and his world starts anew.

And there are fireworks. Quite literally, in fact. Nearby the yearly Tanabata fireworks go off, showering brilliant colors through the air until they twinkle and fade in the distance. The dazzling colors of the rainbow explode across the sky, in what has possibly been the best display in the past 15 years. And yet somehow, they become nothing but a dull hum in the background. For the both of them. The feeling of her slender hands on the back of his neck, fingers twisting into his hair, and the soft pressure as her lips move against his own slowly drives him mad. And yet even as his hand presses against the base of her spine, pulling her against him until he can feel every soft curve. He pulls away only when he feels a startling realization that this contact _isn't enough_.

It _had_ been simple.

Until he had his first taste.

His tongue traces over the soft curve of her breast, watching as not for the first time her delicate heart-shaped face turns a bright red that would put the ripest of apples to shame. Her skin is hot and salty with sweat, and if he was younger he would be absolutely appalled at his own actions. It is almost obscene, surely. And even knowing so he does it again, finding he enjoys the action more than he should. And he is amused as she brings a hand to her mouth to bite on the second knuckle of her ring finger. A habit he knows she is not yet aware of. And he probably won't tell her about it until she breaks the skin. Her blush never wavers, not even once. And her eyes glitter.

It _was_ simple, anyway.

Because if he was younger, he wouldn't be where he was now.

Firmly grasping her hips, he drags her down to the edge of the bed ignoring her soft, weak whines of protest. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, massaging the skin momentarily as he considers the sweet image that she is. Laying out before him, naked as the day she was born, hair wild from yet another bout of lovemaking that was most definitely entirely his fault, to begin with. He doesn't know how he ever held off as long as he did.

"I-Ichigo-kun… a- _again_?"

He doesn't respond, hooking his arm under her knee and angling her hips as he pleases. She doesn't fight it, instead raising her arms back up to grasp the sheets bunched up by the headboard. As always, she is just as eager for this as he is, despite how often or recent their lovemaking has become. Ever since the first time, nothing had been able to stop them from satisfying this incurable need that neither of them fully understood.

His hand slides between her thighs, stroking with a feather-light touch that leaves her shivering with poorly veiled delight. His other hand cups her thigh as her leg hooks itself over the crook of his arm without a word. The wetness on his fingers serves as a reminder as he traces his name on the smooth skin of her stomach. The essence of their earlier lovemaking from not too long ago now spells out the characters needed.

 _I-chi-go_.

He lives for the knowing blush that spreads across her cheeks.

When he enters her, it's like their first time all over again.

Her spine arches, graceful even as she trembles in want. He watches, just as fascinated as he had been the first time they were together, as her body adjusts to accommodate him. From the subtle shift of her arm to the not so subtle jerking of her hips as he buries himself within her warmth. She moves for him. Her voice calls him; a soft breath carried away by the pounding of his own heart. He knows her heart beats just as fast for him too.

"Ichigo…" She sighs, her voice blissful as her eyelashes flutter closed.

He moves.

A barely-there rotation of her hips against his.

It isn't long before the soft, tender sounds of their lovemaking begin to fill the room once again. Skin meeting skin at a steady pace, the subtle sound of protest as the bedframe creaks and the mattress squeaks. It is a new kind of music he would never be able to properly explain his fondness for. Still, he makes the mental note to fix the bed frame in the morning and start saving for one of those fancy mattresses without springs.

Her fingers tighten their hold on the sheets above her head, grasping onto them like a lifeline. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as her eyes gaze out at him from under thick lashes. Such a lustful look shouldn't fit on a sweet, innocent young woman. But it does, and the warmth that started to burn his chest so long ago burns even more ferociously. He watches the soft bounce of her breasts as their hips meet and pull away rhythmically, and he wonders if this would be considered a kind of dance. It certainly looks as such.

That warmth in his chest, the catch in his throat. They never leave.

He decides she is too silent, her soft panting breaths and murmurs are not enough. And he takes hold of her hip once more. In one swift startling motion, he pulls back before slamming back in at _just_ the right angle. The angle he _knows_ will get a reaction he wants.

As expected, he gets just what he had been looking for. And the shocked, but highly pleasured cry of his name that is more beautiful than any song.

"I-Ichigo!"

And he _loves_ it when she says his name the most.

He bows his head forward, drawing their bodies closer as he captures her nipple between his lips. He can hear his own labored breaths now, muffled slightly against her soft skin. And his hips work harder, his hand on her hip pushing and pulling her back and forth against his thrusts. He can feel his muscles working both for him and against him. Human limits are too much. And he knows firsthand just how limitless his energy can be when he is a Shinigami.

Once again, he makes a mental note.

The hand on her hip moves, trailing up the side of her body as though to memorize every dip and curve. As if he hasn't already spent hours mapping her body with his hands and tongue. At the memory, his lips move from her breast to her throat, lavishing her with soft kisses and sharp love bites that leave behind a perfect necklace of tiny bruises. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers they have a plan to meet everyone at the Beach, but the thoughts are swiftly pushed away as he feels her tighten ever so slightly around his length.

And he does not realize it until he hears her responding, but he is murmuring rough demands into the column of her throat.

"Move your hips."

"Yes…"

"Faster."

"M-Mhm!"

" _More_ , Orihime."

" _A_ - _Ah_!"

With a sharp thrust, her head tosses back in pleasure, but she doesn't cum. Not yet. She won't until he does. Secretly, he thinks it's almost _precious_. And even as his own release suddenly seems so close, for the second time that night, he holds back. He slows down. And her panicked sound of protest almost has him grinning. Almost.

"Ichigo, please." Her voice is thick, impatient. And he promises himself that he will be the only one to ever hear her beg this way.

As if rewarding her efforts, he hikes her knee over his shoulder and angles her body further. The change has her gasping, but the feeling of his thumb on her clit has her _writhing_. The sight of her curvaceous body, twisting and trembling under his own his addictive.

And it's _his_.

 _She_ is his.

He solidifies the fact with a few long strokes, watching as her mouth opens and her body trembles. But still, she doesn't cum. A part of him admires the strength it takes to do so.

A larger part of him greedily encourages it, knowing that soon she will completely unravel around in and in his arms. With that thought, he curves an arm under her back and pulls her into his lap. They both shudder at the position change, and he knows that just a little more…

With one arm, he supports her weight easily, years of training and fighting are to thank. His other hand, calloused and rough, gathers her long beautiful hair at the back of her head and tilts her head back until their eyes are forced to meet. As if any force was even needed. Her eyes are already on his own, bright, and yet also darkened with need.

Gazes connected, they move once more. And it is slow and sensual. Their bodies move against one another, and it is maddening. She trusts him to support her. He trusts her to wait for him.

She doesn't have to wait much longer.

The hand in her hair tightens, pulling the soft strands as his hips struggle to keep their lazy pace just so. Drawing out his release from the very start. His mouth opens, and her name is rough and guttural as it falls from his lips. The sound sends her over the edge, releases her, and she cries out softly as she tightens around his length.

It had started out simple.

Yet this primal need, one he had so often pushed aside without really understanding _what_ it was, had always been there.

 _Love._

And that was the essence of his greed.


End file.
